


The Missing Witcher

by embeer2004



Series: A vampire, his blood-brother and his witcher [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Caring, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Leshen - Freeform, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Roots - Freeform, The Witcher 3 Spoilers, Witcher level violence, more emphasis on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Geralt was late and this worried Regis. He knew how his young friend was easily distracted with little side errands and therefore he always interpreted the time of a rendezvous with some flexibility, but for this particular joyous occasion the young witcher wouldn’t risk being late. Something must have happened... and Regis was going to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set after Blood and Wine. Dettlaff is alive. The bond between him and Regis is mentioned in my other fic as well; basically the two are linked and can feel each other’s emotions if they focus on it, or if an emotion is very strong it will come through the bond whether they focus on it or not. It’s also possible to block the bond purposefully, something Dettlaff did when the events of BAW were taking place.

_Present  
  
_ Regis flew between the trees, his mist form easily manoeuvring around the obstacles in his path. The woods he was in were ancient and he could _feel_ the anger and sorrow emanating from all living things here, plants and animals alike. No doubt the loggers nearby had contributed greatly to this anger and now the forest was revolting, lashing out at anyone who dared to enter.  
  
That of course had led to the loggers posting a notice with a request for a witcher to take care of the issue, and of course that witcher just had to be Geralt. Who was by now five days late for their meeting in Novigrad.  
  
Regis knew how his young friend was easily distracted with little side errands and therefore he always interpreted the time of a rendezvous with some flexibility, but for this particular joyous occasion the young witcher wouldn’t risk being late. Geralt would never break Dandelion’s heart by missing such an important event as his wedding to Priscilla, finally after all these years. Something must be wrong…  
  
~*~  
  
_Past_  
  
After that fateful night in Toussaint, Geralt’s stint in jail and Regis’ own flight to retrieve a colourful bard from all the way up north in Novigrad, Regis had been fully convinced he’d deserved a celebratory drink with his dear friend before going after Dettlaff.  
  
When that final morning had come and the mandrake was gone, Regis had hugged Geralt tightly and they’d both said their goodbye-for-now’s before Regis had departed in a blue-grey mist.  
  
The bond he shared with his blood-brother, which had earlier been closed off during Dettlaff’s plight, had started thrumming as he flew. The background sensations of the other could easily be felt again; a clear invitation that he was welcome to come and find the younger vampire.  
  
A sensation in his chest had tugged him towards the west and Regis had a feeling that his brother had returned home to Nazair. He’d flown as fast as he could and had been surprised when he caught up to his friend in the Sudouth Valley. With the time that had passed Dettlaff should have been long home.  
  
Dettlaff had stood there, arms crossed, and had simply nodded at Regis. Later he would tell him that he’d been following him from a distance ever since Tesham Mutna to make sure he was all right and because of some curiosity as to what would happen to the witcher, but back then in Sudouth Valley Regis was glad that Dettlaff had let him find him. They’d travelled together from that moment on.  
  
The younger vampire had been silent during their journey, but the worry he had for his companion came through loud and clear over their bond each time Regis needed to slow down or halted in exhaustion, shifting back to his human shape whenever this happened.  
  
What with all that had occurred before and his desperate flight to first Novigrad, then to the west to meet up with Dettlaff, his body had become taxed to the limit. Even travelling at what was considered a normal pace had tired the older vampire after a few hours. Each time he had needed a rest Dettlaff would patiently wait next to Regis. The **_worry_** and **_concern_** vibrating between them. The **_guilt_**.  
  
Regis had shaken his head after their third halt and he’d reached out to Dettlaff who’d sat down next to him. He’d shuffled closer to the other vampire and had rested his head comfortably against a broad shoulder. He wouldn’t say that it was all right, nothing about the whole ordeal had been all right, but they were pack, they were vampires… they would stay together and mend what was broken. Automatically Dettlaff’s arm had moved to circle Regis’ back and one hand had come up to press Regis’ face closer to his neck. It was a familiar position and both vampires derived comfort from it and the closeness between them.  
  
*  
  
One week later they’d arrived home. Dettlaff still hadn’t said anything. The young vampire had looked at their home, all the familiar nooks and crannies, but his eyes were focused on something that wasn’t visible. He’d been brooding, thinking, processing…  
  
Regis had seen Dettlaff circle his left hand around his right and hold the appendage out in front of him as though it was a strange and unfamiliar thing. It had been eerily familiar to an earlier event Geralt had described just after drinking the Resonance potion and Regis hoped there would be no repeat of it.  
  
Their home provided safe and familiar surroundings. Even better, their pack was here and their packmates were sure to provide some distraction for the both of them.  
  
The youngest members of the pack, the katakan pups, had been the first ones to dare approaching the morose vampire, standing up on their hind legs and cuddling up to Dettlaff. They had seemed to sense his distress and had not giving up until their pack alpha had given them some fond scratches behind their ears. When he finally did they’d still stayed with him for a long time, softly chittering and crooning and nuzzling their heads every so often against the large hands, begging for more pets.  
  
Regis had decided to give Dettlaff some space. He would let his friend grieve and come to terms with what had happened, what he had done, and Regis would be there for him whenever he needed.  
  
Yes, their Nazair home was the right place to recover, where they were safe and comfortable and surrounded by loved ones.  
  
Regis had also decided that he would not disappear off the face of the earth, instead he fully intended to keep contact with his friends. He’d not been able to enjoy their presence for far too long (well, mortally speaking) and he would soon lose them for forever, thus he should make the most of it. Keep in touch, even if it was only by written correspondence, perhaps later when Dettlaff was feeling better meeting up with them again in the flesh.  
  
He’d sent a raven to Geralt in Corvo Bianco, a note attached to the bird’s leg. The little note informed the witcher that he’d successfully met up with Dettlaff, that they’d arrived safely back home and that he fully intended to keep in touch and if Geralt liked he could ask the bird to wait on his reply to bring back with him.  
  
Dettlaff had raised a lip and released a short growl seeing the raven leave the first few times, but he hadn’t hindered Regis from sending the bird, nor did he hinder the bird when it came back with a new message attached to its leg.  
  
Days had turned into weeks and weeks into months and slowly Dettlaff was becoming more like himself again. Less gloomy, less leery, speaking again and reaching out to his pack mates on his own. Progress.  
  
Then one day a raven had arrived at their home with a letter from Geralt. A huge grin had appeared on Regis’ face while he read it. **_Happiness. Pride._**  
  
A warm presence came up behind him, no doubt Dettlaff had felt the emotions coming through their bond, and the younger vampire had gently grasped his shoulders. “What’s the news?”  
  
Regis had turned around within Dettlaff’s grip. “A member of my pa-, the hansa, Dandelion, is getting married and invited me to the wedding. Geralt asked to meet him in Novigrad one week before the celebratory date.”  
  
**_Sorrow. Regret._** Dettlaff’s jaw had clenched, but he’d lifted one hand to stroke Regis’ cheek. “You should go. I know how dear your pack is to you.” **_Love._**  
  
Regis had smiled gently and placed his own hand on top of Dettlaff’s, nuzzling his cheek into the hand. **_Safe._** **_Love._** “I shan’t be but a month, brother.”  
  
Dettlaf had smiled wryly at him. “Do not fret, I’m not going anywhere. Should you need me, let me know.”  
  
“Likewise.” Regis had hugged his blood-brother tightly and then made preparations so he could leave the next day.   
  
~*~  
  
Regis had travelled north in his mist form, sticking to the shadows and taking care not to be noticed by any humans. They frightened so easily when someone was not like them and could do things their fragile bodies couldn’t. Yet, travelling in this manner was so much faster, so much more efficient than travelling by horse or on foot. He’d given up the whole idea of always looking and travelling like a human.  
  
He’d made the way up and down to Novigrad once already in this manner and now that he’d recovered physically from the ordeal in Toussaint he’d managed to make this particular trip in a little more than a week.  
  
Eight days after he left home he found himself in Novigrad, a bit earlier than planned. Regis easily located the Chameleon where he had had a joyful reunion with Dandelion and Zolton and finally met the lady Priscilla. Geralt wasn’t there yet, but he should arrive in a couple of days. Regis enjoyed the extra time and had spent it strolling through the city with Dandelion one time and visiting the market with Priscilla another, or just walking around by himself and taking in all the changes that had occurred since the city flew Nilgaard’s banners. Evenings were merry occasions in the Chameleon and Regis basked in seeing his friends so happy.  
  
*  
  
The day he’d agreed upon with Geralt passed by, but still there was no sight of the witcher. Knowing his friend tended to tarry and take up the odd notice here and there in the settlements he passed Regis didn’t worry all too much, but when the fourth day arrived with still no sign of his friend the vampire decided to search for him.  
  
After a quick reassurance to Dandelion that he would do his utmost to find the errant witcher in time for his big day, Regis departed south. What with Geralt travelling up north from Toussaint he expected the witcher to pass either through Gors Velen or Vizima, two locations he could easily scout out in a day. The vampire ignored the little voice in his head telling him Geralt could be anywhere; he had to start somewhere. He wouldn’t stop searching until he had found him.  
  
Regis travelled south to Gors Velen first and walked up to one of the notice boards, going over the notices in the hope something would catch his eye. _Nothing._ He could hear sobbing behind him and when he looked he saw several women dressed in black, huddling together.  
  
Footsteps approached him from behind. “Them the loggers’ widows.”  
  
Regis twisted around to see a bushy haired man with horribly crooked teeth. “What happened to their husbands?”  
  
The old man spoke, hacking a cough and spitting onto the ground. “Them loggers kept disappearing or smeared all over the forest floor, but that no matter no more. No one can help. Stay out of the forest grandfather, there’s evil lurks in those woods.”  
  
Regis perked up, that sounded like something his friend would have been interested in. “Can you tell me more about this?”  
  
The man coughed again, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve afterwards. “We got ourselves a woodland spirit. Gathered all our coin to hire a witcher to take care of it, but the white haired bastard’s been gone for days now. Scrawny fellow, I dinna trust those weird eyes to begin with. He told us not to go into dem woods again ‘til he came back, but he’s gone up and disappeared and logging needs doing. Good thing we didn’t pay him up front, fear that’s a lost cause. We’ll need to hire another witcher now.”  
  
A flutter went through Regis’ chest. There was only one white haired witcher he knew of. “Where did he go?”  
  
The man shook his head. “Stay out of the woods, grandfather.”  
  
Regis stepped closed to the man. **“Where?”** He all but growled.  
  
The man stumbled a step backwards and pointed a finger over his shoulder. “Follow thataway if you’re really intent on your death. Follow the trail of blood, that’s what we tole’im.”  
  
~*~  
  
_Present_  
  
… and that is how Regis found himself in the woods south of Gors Velen, dodging twigs and branches, searching for the witcher who’d taken on the woodland spirit contract.  
  
When the woods became less dense he shifted back into his human form and continued on foot. He could hear birds high up in the rustling tree branches and far off in the distance the growls and howls of wolves, or perhaps wild dogs.  
  
Finally, Regis found who he was looking for. The first reaction he had was **_panic_**. His entire body felt electrified with it and he hurriedly, but cautiously, moved closer, entranced and horrified both at once by the sight.  
  
Geralt was trapped upright in a knot of twigs, roots and branches. The thicker branches swirled up his legs and torso, circling back to trap his arms uselessly next to him. Smaller twigs and roots twisted in between the thick branches, immobilising his friend’s limbs even further and trapping his fingers. Regis silently remarked that there was no wriggle room whatsoever – as the current state of his friend showed Geralt had been unable to cast signs in order to free himself.  
  
Some thinner roots wrapped around Geralt’s neck and held his head up, while a thicker root had forcefully buried itself in the witcher’s mouth. Trickles of dried blood were apparent on Geralt’s chin. The skin around his closed eyes was dark, but the rest of his face was sickly pale.  
  
Regis listened closely and let out a relieved sigh when he could hear soft wheezes coming from the still figure. Geralt’s breathing sounded weak and shallow, but at least he was breathing. His steel sword was still present in the scabbard on his back, but his silver sword was lying discarded on the forest floor some metres away, useless.  
  
Regis moved closer and lay his left palm gently against a pale scruffy cheek. “Geralt?”  
  
Geralt’s eyelids twitched and he jerkily inhaled, choking on the root. A fresh trickle of blood ran down his chin.  
  
“Hold on, my friend, let me help you.” Regis reached for the thick root, examining how he could pull it free without doing more damage.  
  
The sound of creaking branches drew him from his deliberations and promptly made him turn around. _The woodland spirit._ It appeared tall and thin, with the face of a deer skull and arms like tree branches. _A Leshen._ Regis had expected it after hearing the rumours and seeing his friend’s body on such a display, eerily similar to another Leshen tableau, though for some reason Geralt had been left alive instead of immediately killed.  
  
“I did not come with the intent to fight you, only to retrieve my friend,” Regis told the Leshen. “If you let us pass you may protect your woods further, however, if you hinder me I shall kill you.”  
  
The Leshen rose up to its full height, showing off its claws and turning its empty gaze on Regis before evaporating in a puff of black smoke. A murder of crows appeared in its place, coming towards them.  
  
Regis looked at Geralt for only a moment before turning into his vampire form. He circled around the crows and waited for the Leshen to materialise again. When it did he rushed towards it, slashing at the creature. The Leshen touched its own claws to the ground and immediately roots sprung up from the ground, trying to grab and impale him.  
  
Regis misted up and evaded the attack, settling down in his corporeal form behind the Leshen and slashing at its back. He had never fought a Leshen before, but he’d heard Geralt’s stories and knew what these relicts could do. Ideally he’d use fire to weaken such a creature, and Geralt was bound to have used relict oil on his sword, but Regis was no swordsman nor a witcher. His slashes were doing damage at least, only a few more strikes would be needed to cleave the Leshen in two.  
  
The Leshen evaporated into a black smoke again and this time the murder of crows circled the entire clearing, spiralling around Geralt and coalescing into the shape of the Leshen right next to him. The ancient creature was slowly moving its claws to the ground again, far too close to Geralt.  
  
**_Worry. Anger._** Regis misted up until he was behind the Leshen and before the creature’s claws could touch the ground the vampire materialised and violently slashed and ripped at the relict with such a force that this time the Leshen stumbled down onto the ground and fell over, cleaved in half. Still.  
  
Regis couldn’t help the snarl escaping from his throat while he picked up the pieces of the Leshen and with all his strength propelled them away from the site.  
  
**_Worry. Concern._**  
  
Regis halted; those sensations came from Dettlaff. The older vampire reached for their bond and swiftly sent back safe sensations. **_Safe. Calm._** He hadn’t meant to worry his dear friend and brother.  
  
Regis moved back to Geralt. It seemed that at some point during the fight his friend had been aware of what had been going on around him and had struggled to the best of his extent with the roots holding him prisoner. Regis detected more fresh blood seeping down his chin while Geralt laboured for each new breath. The struggling hadn’t done the witcher any good and his lips were turning blue; the root would have to come out quickly.  
  
“Oh dear friend, I apologise for what I must do next.” Regis grabbed the part of the root outside of Geralt’s mouth and held it steady while his claws cut through it in one slash. Now it could be easily manoeuvred without causing more injury and within a moment Geralt’s mouth was freed.  
  
Immediately his friend’s wheezing breaths sounded louder. Geralt’s mouth stayed locked open but Regis noticed the small twitches of his jaw. He transformed back into his human shape and reached out, gently massaging the temporomandibular joints until Geralt was able to close his mouth again.  
  
“ ’gis?” Geralt’s cat-like eyes fluttered open halfway, pain and weariness reflected in them. “Wa’r?”  
  
Regis’ brow furrowed while he reached for the waterskin on his belt. “Of course, my friend.” The vampire gently cradled the back of Geralt’s head, supporting him while still trapped in this awkward pose.  
  
Geralt drank several mouthfuls and then turned his head slightly to the side, eyes closing.  
  
“Stay with me Geralt, I’m going to get you out of this.” Regis tried to reach under the roots trapping Geralt’s neck, but they wouldn’t move easily. It took some effort, but the vampire managed to grab a hold of them without hurting Geralt any further and started breaking the roots and branches, forcing them to release the tight hold they had on their prisoner one by one.  
  
He placed himself in front of Geralt and let his friend sag against him the moment his arms and torso were freed. Regis heard the desperate gasps while his friend tried to inhale as much of the precious oxygen as he could. His forehead rested on Regis’ shoulder and his arms hung limply down his sides. The vampire carefully stroked a hand up and down Geralt’s neck, feeling the heaving chest touching his own and sensing the shudders even through the armour his friend wore. “You must keep calm, dear friend. Slow breaths… you’re nearly free.”  
  
One shaking hand managed to weakly grasp his tunic. Regis felt a nod against his shoulder and took that as the go-ahead to remove the final trappings from his friend.  
  
Freeing the left leg was easy and Regis could feel a shift as Geralt tried to stand on it, his other hand grasping Regis’ tunic as well in a bid to remain upright. The vampire could feel the tremors running through the exhausted body increasing and hurried to remove the last branches. Once Regis had finished with the last branch Geralt’s legs collapsed beneath him. The vampire’s reflexes were fortunately quick enough to allow him to catch his friend and he lowered him gently down to the floor.  
  
Geralt rolled himself onto his side and started retching up bile and water. One of his arms circled around his ribs in a move very familiar to Regis. The witcher’s breath stuttered.  
  
Regis sat crouched on his haunches, holding on to a shoulder and making sure his friend couldn’t roll onto his front. “Shallow breaths, Geralt, you can do it.”  
  
When Geralt calmed down and his breathing evened out, Regis sat down. He was glad to see the cat-like eyes open. Making sure his friend saw his movement he carefully lifted Geralt’s head and adjusted their positions so his friend’s upper body rested on top of his own legs, hoping the elevated position would make breathing easier.  
  
Regis supported the back of Geralt’s head and offered him the waterskin again. “Small sips, my friend, I’m sure you’re parched but you’re not well enough to handle too much in one go.”  
  
Geralt eagerly drank the water until Regis pulled the skin away. A low whimper sounded from the figure in his arms and a trembling hand tried to reach for the source of the water, the other still clutching his ribs.  
  
Regis lowered Geralt’s head to his leg and lightly stroked the white hair. Seeing those pained golden eyes begging him tugged at the vampire’s heartstrings. “Shh… you can have more in a short while. In the meantime let me examine you, all right?” Regis observed the medium-heavy armour his friend was wearing and wondered how much damage his friend had suffered.  
  
How did he manage to get caught like this? Regis shook his head, no, that wasn’t what was important right now. Geralt would tell him later what had happened. When he was not near death.  
  
Regis tilted Geralt’s head back and touched a thumb to his friend’s lips. “Can you open your mouth for just a moment?”  
  
Geralt rolled his head to the side, dislodging Regis’ finger.  
  
Regis sighed. He could imagine Geralt’s jaw still hurt from its long locked position. He gently stroked the abused jaw. “Come on now, witcher. It’ll just be for a moment.”  
  
His friend gave in to his plea and he parted his lips, not getting far in opening his mouth, so Regis carefully stuck his thumb between Geralt’s teeth and pulled his jaw down, taking care not to apply too much force.  
  
Geralt’s mouth was full of blisters, some of them bleeding, and his tongue had suffered some deep scratches, but all his teeth were in place and there didn’t appear to be any permanent damage. Regis removed his thumb and gently guided Geralt’s mouth closed, moving his head back to a more comfortable position. “Thank you, Geralt. There doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage, though I fear swallowing will be painful for a while.”  
  
Geralt huffed, holding his arm closer to his ribs.  
  
Regis gently stroked the arm before nudging it to the side. “Broken?”  
  
Geralt hummed an ‘uhuh’ and squinted up at the vampire, clearly having difficulty focusing. “Pack… swallow…”  
  
Regis shook his head and reached for Geralt’s armour straps. “Please let me examine the full extent of your injuries before giving you any of your potions. It grieves me to see you hurting, but I need to make sure your body can handle the extra assault your poisons will no doubt lash out.”  
  
“Only ribs… bruises… am fine. Gimme swallow.” Geralt breathed, trying to bat Regis’ hands away.  
  
Regis lifted an eyebrow and tried to look stern. “Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, don’t you start behaving like a puerile juvenile. Listen to your sagacious elder.”  
  
Geralt’s face buried itself against Regis’ belly, a soft laugh shuddering from the pale figure. “Don’t… make laugh.” There was a small smile on his friend’s face now instead of only weariness and hurt.  
  
Regis rubbed Geralt’s temple with his thumb in apology, stroking light circles. Whenever Dettlaff had done it to him Regis had felt soothed by the repetitive soft motion, hopefully it had the same effect on his friend. “Please Geralt, I know you’re in pain, but I would feel infinitely better knowing your body _can_ actually handle this poison you wish to imbibe before giving it to you. You know how our beloved bard can get when his perfect plans are foiled… and you dying just two days before his wedding would definitely fall within that category.”  
  
Geralt huffed. “No… fair.” His eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open. “Fine.”  
  
Regis didn’t waste any more time. He reached for the straps holding the armour together and loosened them. It took a bit of gentle lifting and turning, but soon he had removed the top part of Geralt’s armour, taking care with the sword scabbards, as well at the witcher’s potion pouch, leaving only a thin tunic in place. Regis decided against fully removing this layer, instead lifting the fabric upward so he could easily examine his friend’s body.  
  
Indeed, Regis could feel several broken ribs on both sides, but the sternum was intact. Bruises mottled Geralt’s torso in thick long stripes, those roots and branches had held their prisoner with incredible force. If he hadn’t been wearing the armour he would be dead now, crushed to death. Regis expected Geralt’s arms and legs to have similar markings and checked the limbs for any breaks. None. He grabbed one of Geralt’s wrists and pressed two fingers against the pulse point. A bit fast and weaker than normal, but steady. No dark markings indicating earlier potion abuse or toxicity. That was good.  
  
Geralt hummed, face still pressed close to Regis’ belly.  
  
Regis opened Geralt’s potion pouch and retrieved a bottle with orange liquid, holding it within Geralt’s line of sight. “This one is the swallow? It looks different than I remember.”  
  
“Superior… swalllow. Better…” Geralt’s arm moved back around his ribs again, his breaths shallow.  
  
Regis searched around in the witcher’s potion’s pack and retrieved another flask. “And this is white gull, am I correct? For pain?”  
  
Geralt nodded.  
  
Regis helped him sit up against him and offered Geralt both potions as well as more water. Next, he took a roll of bandages from Geralt’s pack and created a little distance between them. He made sure to keep one hand behind his back in support while he was wrapping his friend’s torso in an effort to stabilise the injured ribs. It wasn’t all too difficult to keep his tunic out of the way. “How long have you been trapped by the Leshen?”  
  
The witcher got a bemused look on his face and it took him a while to answer. “Four… days? Tracking before, then… Roach spooked, fell-” Golden eyes searched their surroundings, looking slightly panicked.  
  
Regis finished the wrapping with a knot and pulled down the thin tunic before laying Geralt down on his legs again. “Now now, Geralt, save your strength. I wanted an indication as to the extent of your dehydration. Luckily you witchers are hardy folk. Do you think Roach is nearby? Would she hear it if you called for her?”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “ _You_ whistle. Knows you too.”  
  
“All right, but if she doesn’t arrive I am going to lift you up and carry you back to Novigrad myself. Or at least until Gors Velen, where we’re bound to be able to acquire some suitable transport.” Regis whistled the way Geralt usually did when calling his horse. To his surprise it took only a few minutes before the bushes near him rustled and a brown mare with a white blaze and socks appeared in sight. “How on earth does she do that?” The vampire muttered under his breath.  
  
Roach walked up to her witcher and gently nuzzled his cheek. “You’re forgiven.” Regis heard Geralt say. “Big ‘n scary, right to spook.”  
  
Regis carefully moved Geralt off of his legs, making sure he seemed comfortable enough. He retrieved the witcher’s armour and walked over to the silver sword on the floor, sliding it back into its scabbard. With the straps loosened he could see how the armour parts could fit into one of Roach’s saddlebags and he busied himself trying to get everything to fit before wondering what to do about the swords.  
  
“Help me up,” Geralt requested suddenly.  
  
Regis turned back and crouched down next to Geralt, slowly helping his friend to stand and supporting his weight. The potions seemed to be doing something because the witcher’s tremors had lessened and he felt more sturdy – as opposed to his earlier imitation of a heavy, listless sandbag.  
  
Geralt walked up to Roach and indicated a pair of hooks up on the saddle. “For the swords.” He held out his hand and Regis handed him the weapons, seeing him attach them to the hooks.  
  
“And now up you go, Geralt.” Regis guided Geralt’s foot to one stirrup and helped him get the momentum to slip onto Roach’s back. Seeing that Geralt managed to stay upright just fine the vampire held up a hand. “Just a moment, shall we bring a trophy as proof of a finished contract?”  
  
Geralt grumbled, hunching over in the saddle. “Didn’t kill.”  
  
“You risked your life taking on this contract! At the very least you should be recompensed for your tribulations.” Regis saw Geralt scowl and knew that that’s not how the witcher saw it. He regretted knowing that most contractors wouldn’t see it that way either; they only cared about results and not about the mortal danger a witcher faced. “Yes it is true, my friend, I know you’ve heard it before.”  
  
The vampire searched around for where the cleaved Leshen had landed. He ran up to it and prepared their trophy, a Leshen head, going back to the horse and tying the trophy to the saddle.  
  
“First Gors Velen, then on to Novigrad. With two days of rest, drink and food I think you will manage to join the festivities, though I would suggest you skip any shoe diving. Dandelion and Priscilla will be thrilled! Now scoot forward, I’m getting behind you.” Regis worriedly hovered next to Geralt and waited for the witcher to settle a bit higher up in the saddle before he awkwardly climbed up himself.  
  
Regis’ arms circled around his friend, grabbing the reins. “Here, let me guide Roach. Settle yourself back against me.”  
  
Geralt made no fuss about releasing the reins and dropped his head back to Regis’ shoulder.  
  
Regis spurred Roach to start moving with a soft click of his tongue and the gentle mare followed his command.  
  
“So let me tell you what else has happened back home in Nazair just before I left.” Regis started talking softly, knowing the way he spoke would become a steady background drone for his friend to focus on. Soon he felt more of Geralt’s exhausted weight settling against him and he shuffled a bit in his seat to adjust his hold on his friend. **_Relief._**  
  
He did it. He’d found Geralt. Now he would make sure his friend would safely arrive in Novigrad. They had an important event to attend, after all.  
  
**The end**


	2. Mother bat and pup

Geralt woke to a slight rocking motion. He was sitting upright and leaning against a warm body. He opened his eyes and noticed it was late dusk, but the harsh light of some nearby road torches made him quickly shut his eyelids again. A harsh pant escaped his mouth and sharp gritty shards stabbed his chest, holding his lungs hostage.  
  
“Shallow breaths, my friend.” A calm voice behind him spoke. “Focus on the feel of the air passing your nose as you breathe in… and out…”  
  
Geralt tried to do what the voice said, familiar with the technique as it was part of his meditations. After some stuttering tries the gritty shards dulled and released their hostages. The witcher swallowed the blood that had appeared in his mouth and felt the inside of his cheeks with his tongue. His mouth hurt… his tongue hurt. It didn’t make any sense, were those _blisters_?  
  
He tried opening his eyes again, this time squinting and trying to take in his surroundings. He vaguely recognised the outline of the city, but everything was so fuzzy and the torch light made his head hurt even worse than it already did. He vaguely remembered some weird dreams, but the details slipped his grasp.  
  
Slowly memory seeped back. _The Leshen. The prison of roots._ A cold shudder whirled through the witcher. He hadn’t been able to move even a finger for days, his body had been crushed and eventually the pain had turned into a monotonous numbness. He’d been trying to hold on to hope that someone would find him, but that had become harder and harder as time had passed.  
  
“Geralt?” The voice behind him again. Was it even real? He’d been through this already, hadn’t he? Only to wake and find himself still trapped. He’d seen Yen one time… and Ciri, now apparently it was Regis that had found him.  
  
A hand lightly touched his cheek. “Just a few more moments and we shall be inside Novigrad. Then onward to the Chameleon for dinner and a warm bath and rest in an actual bed.”  
  
Well, if he was still trapped he was bound to wake up soon. Geralt sagged further against the body holding him up, defeated. His dream of him travelling with Regis and the vampire haggling over an increase in reward for a Leshen head trophy couldn’t be real. The vampire witcher, or did that make him a witcher vampire? Vampire witcher, witcher vampire… Geralt huffed in amusement, suppressing the urge to start laughing hysterically.  
  
The hand softly patted his cheek. “Geralt? Can you hear me?”  
  
“Hhnnn.” Geralt replied. He didn’t want to speak, he could work around his aching mouth, but his head was killing him. He frowned, pain, that was actually different. He hadn’t hurt before with Yen and Ciri, had he? “Regis, real?” He breathed barely above a whisper. “Real… this time?”  
  
Regis’ arm circled around his chest, only lightly touching, and he could feel a whiskered cheek nuzzling the top of his head. “Sweet Geralt, yes, this is real. I don’t know what you’ve seen before, but I am no hallucination.” Regis continued speaking in a soft manner, but Geralt gradually lost track of his friend’s words.  
  
He must have phased out for a bit, because all of a sudden he smelled hay and leather and other typical stable smells. Other unsavoury smells reached him as well now, his senses amplified together with his headache. Geralt looked up and blearily recognised he was in a stall, Regis was still behind him.  
  
There was a cold chill at his back when Regis dismounted from Roach. His friend moved next to him and grasped his hip with one hand, moving the other up his back. Geralt swung from the saddle, grunting when his upper body twisted and the stabbing shards reappeared in full force. Regis’ swift adjustment of his grip prevented him from crumbling to the floor.  
  
He hunched over, one arm braced around his ribs, his fist clutching the material of his tunic with white knuckles. Regis patiently kept a hold of him until he had composed himself. “Easy Geralt, breathe. That’s it…”  
  
When Geralt felt he could breathe again he unclenched his fist and straightened back up, lifting his gaze to meet Regis’. The witcher squinted, blinking slowly, but Regis refused to unfuzz.  
  
Regis lifted a hand and gently tilted his chin upwards, examining his face. “You seem to have some trouble focusing, my friend, tell me what else ails you?”  
  
Geralt closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “Head hurts… blurry… nauseous. Smells… Getting worse…”  
  
A thumb stroked his jaw. “We’re close to the Chameleon. When we’re there I’ll give you a thorough examination and establish which medicine would be most beneficial to relieve your pain and aid your healing.” The vampire removed his hand and shifted on his feet. “I’d rather you refrain from drinking your poisons, but perhaps you will allow me to prepare you one of my herbal concoctions?”  
  
Geralt forced his eyes back open to thin slits. “Fine…” He’d rather drink a swallow potion, but Regis and Yennefer always worried about him using his potions and preferred to try other things first and only allow potions as a last resort.  
  
They started slowly walking. The path from the stables to the Chameleon was a quiet one luckily, but when they neared the cabaret and tavern Geralt flinched and stopped moving.  
  
“Geralt?” The vampire touched his elbow.  
  
The witcher held up his hand. “Noise…” He was sure Regis too had no trouble hearing the merry music and voices coming from within Dandelion’s establishment. The noise wasn’t louder than usual per se, but it took more effort than normal to handle. Entering the place was going to be hell in his current state.  
  
He started moving again, Regis by his side. Finally they were in front of the door and Geralt braced himself, opening it. It was as bad as he’d expected and the witcher squinted his eyes, hands coming up to cover his ears. The smells made him swallow compulsively and he hunched in on himself, wishing to just curl up on the floor. It was too much. Geralt tried to focus only on his breathing, but the pickaxe that had started hollowing out the area behind his right eye made it nearly impossible.  
  
Regis moved his hands up to Geralt’s wrists and hunched down in front of him, black eyes worriedly looking him over. The barber surgeon’s fingers fluttered over to Geralt’s pulse point for a moment, both the vampire’s hands joining Geralt’s afterwards, helping him shield the noise. When Regis spoke next his voice was hardly above a whisper. “I believe you are currently experiencing a migraine, which I suspect is a consequence of everything your body has been through these last few days.” Regis adjusted his position to stand next to Geralt, still covering his ears, and gently guided the witcher towards the stairs.  
  
Meanwhile Geralt was focusing on the floor and trying his utmost to ignore the assault to his senses. He did not look forward to having to puke with his ribs messed up, not even to mention all the blisters in his mouth.  
  
“Geralt! Regis!” A familiar voice shouted over the din.  
  
Geralt groaned and looked up, eyes still squinted, and saw his colourful friend coming towards him. He closed his eyes at the gaudy sight.  
  
The moment Dandelion came close enough Geralt heard a soft gasp coming from the bard.  
  
“A bit worse for wear, but I’m sure with sufficient care and rest he will recover swiftly from this ordeal.” Regis quietly reassured Dandelion, speaking in a low voice.  
  
“Geralt? Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s get you settled, you look like death warmed over.” Dandelion thankfully followed Regis’ example and spoke quietly. There was a short silence, excepting the noise of the tavern, before the bard spoke up again. “Your room is ready for you, come on up.”  
  
The bard’s footsteps sounded again, moving away.  
  
Regis’ hands drifted down to his shoulders and his friend started guiding him towards the stairs and up. Geralt was glad the vampire was hovering so near, for it allowed him to tune out nearly everything around him and instead focus on getting through this attack without heaving.  
  
Two floors up the sounds of the tavern were a bit more muted and Geralt breathed a sigh, releasing his ears. The noise was easier to ignore from up here, but he was looking forward to some pain relief. He heard a few sizzles and cautiously opened his eyes, curious.  
  
Dandelion was walking away from one of the candles in the hallway, having pinched the flames, leaving only a lone candle burning at the back of the hallway. His friend opened a door to his left and entered it. Again sizzling sounds.  
  
Regis guided him to the room Dandelion had entered. One candle was left burning, weakly illuminating the room; it seemed to be exactly as he had left it. The poet had once told him it was Geralt’s room, available to him whenever he would like to visit and the room would never be up for rent to customers. It was a nice feeling actually, similar to the one he got after he’d been given Corvo Bianco and started considering the vineyard villa his home.  
  
“Dandelion, would you be so kind as to provide us with some samplings from your excellent cuisine? Something easy to swallow, nothing too pungent. He’s taken some damage inside his mouth and furthermore I believe our friend has a migraine; being extremely sensitive to sounds, smells and light, though that of course does not have any impact on-“  
  
Geralt grabbed his elbow. “Hhnnnng, Regis…”  
  
His friend seemed to get what he was after. “Apologies Geralt. A carafe of water with some sugar and salt mixed in it as well, please, and some rolls of fresh bandages.” Regis finished his request. “Oh, Roach is in the stables, but I haven’t-“  
  
“I’m on it, Regis. Food, drink, bandages and taking care of Roach. Be right back.” Dandelion moved away, hesitating in the doorway. “There’s a bath set up at the end of this corridor if you’d like? There’s towels and soap… The clothes you left behind last time are in the wardrobe behind you.”  
  
Geralt perked up at that, he desperately wanted to be clean again. “Bath?”  
  
Dandelion disappeared from view and Geralt started fiddling with his tunic, trying to get it off without having to lift his arms. His entire body felt tingly and dull, swollen and tight, except for his ribs. The sharp gritty shards were dully pressing against his lungs, manageable for now, but Geralt knew one wrong move and his body would seize up.  
  
He gave up the battle with his tunic after a few tries and before he could even ask Regis started helping with removing the tunic, followed by his sullied trousers. His friend was quick but careful, steadying the witcher when he swayed.  
  
“Reminds me… wading through zeugl infested sewers.” Geralt was too old and too familiar with getting home dirty and smelling awful to feel too self conscious about his state. Poor Regis though, his sense of smell was far better than his own, though the barber surgeon had experienced all sorts of things in all his time doctoring people. “Sorry ‘bout your nose.” Geralt looked down at himself. Even with his vision as blurry as it was he could easily make out the dark shadows all over his body. Now that he was free from the vice of the roots, come morning he would feel much worse.  
  
Regis finished with his trousers and stood up straight, keeping his voice low. “I think in the state you’re in it’s going to be bath, drink, food and then straight to bed.”  
  
Geralt let out a breathy huff and walked to the end of the hallway in search of the bath, Regis hovering by his side.  
  
Regis helped him step out of his underwear and guided him to a low stool, untying the bandages from his chest before subjecting him to a quick soapy sponge from shoulder to toe. Then his friend guided him to the tub and carefully helped him in, setting him down for an additional soak.  
  
Regis’ careful fingers unknotted the leather string holding his raftman’s do in place before lathering up some shampoo, cleaning his hair and lightly massaging his scalp. The motion was soothing in spite of his headache. The lukewarm water as well felt pleasant to his tight and tingling body. He could fall asleep like this. Geralt closed his eyes.  
  
“Stay awake for a bit longer, my friend.” Regis rubbed down the back of his neck, careful not to press too hard.  
  
“Hnnnn…” He replied, keeping his eyes closed.  
  
Sometime later Geralt felt an arm come up behind his back, another grasping his elbow, lifting him up from the tub. Geralt got his legs back under him. He still hurt all over, but he was feeling like something alive again, _smelling_ like something alive again. It did some to improve his current trouble with smell.  
  
More asleep than awake by this point Geralt gladly accepted Regis’ help with getting out of the tub. The vampire quickly but gently dried him off and wrapped a dry towel around his waist once he had finished. “Just a few more moments and you can sleep.” Regis guided him back to his own room and onto the bed, carefully lowering him down to sit on the mattress.  
  
His clothes that had been discarded earlier had disappeared from his room and Geralt idly wondered whether Dandelion would try and get them cleaned, or whether his friend would opt to just burn them straight away, recognising a lost cause when he saw it.  
  
“Please allow me to examine your injuries?” Regis crouched down on his haunches in front of him, one hand resting on the bed next to his leg.  
  
Geralt closed his eyes and hummed an agreement, allowing Regis to do what he needed. Warm hands moved over his arms and legs, then his belly and chest, moving on towards his head, carefully feeling his skull and neck. A thumb at the corner of his mouth silently requested him to open his mouth and Geralt complied, feeling his jaw pulled a bit further down so Regis could actually look inside to examine the state of his mouth. His friend was thorough but quick, finishing the examination of his body with two fingers pressed against his wrist.  
  
Footsteps approached and the door slowly opened a little while later revealing Dandelion, carrying a tray of food and drink, the requested bandages on it as well. The bard halted his entry into the room and Geralt opened his eyes, wondering why his friend had hesitated.  
  
Dandelion’s eyes roved his bruised body, his mouth drawn down into a thin line. He moved towards the bed and put the tray on the night stand, crouching down next to Regis and trying to catch his eye. “You, my friend, have quite a story to tell.”  
  
“Indeed he does, but not tonight.” Regis straightened up and went to the nightstand, filling a mug with the sugar and salted water and handed it to Geralt. The barber surgeon waited until Geralt took the mug and, before releasing his own hold, lightly tapped the bottom twice in a silent command to drink it all.  
  
Geralt drank while Regis started binding his ribs back up. The water didn’t taste too bad, but the liquid did sting his mouth a bit.  
  
Regis nodded at him in approval and finished tying the bandage around his chest. “I’ll be right back. Dandelion, if you would make sure he eats something?”  
  
“Of course, Regis.” The bard shifted to sit down on the bed next to Geralt. When the witcher had finished the mug Dandelion took it from him and replaced it with a bowl. “It’s semolina pudding. Hope that’s all right?”  
  
“Thanks.” Geralt was actually pleased with the pudding. It was something he usually liked and the consistency of the pudding would cool the blisters in his mouth.  
  
When the bowl was nearly finished Regis had returned to the room, carrying a small cup that smelled strongly of chamomile, celandine and something else.  
  
“Everything all right?” The vampire crouched down next to the bed again, black eyes staring intently at the witcher.  
  
Geralt slowly blinked. “Uhuh.”  
  
“I’ve made you one of my own concoctions. It should help to dull some of the pain you are experiencing and I’ve added a mild soporific to help you sleep.” Regis handed him the small cup.  
  
Geralt grimaced at the smell, but drank the concoction in one go. He handed the bowl and cup over to Dandelion and shifted, wanting to lie down on the bed. “Sleep… sounds good.”  
  
The bard stood up to give him some space while Regis came closer. The vampire removed the towel from his hips and helped him get under the covers, shifting the pillow behind Geralt’s head just a bit lower.  
  
Geralt raised an amused brow.  
  
“Oh hush you.” Regis stroked his hand over Geralt’s face, prompting him to close his eyes. “If you need anything, just speak, I’ll hear you.”  
  
Geralt kept his eyes closed, burrowing into the soft pillow behind his head. He could hear another sizzle and the sound of quiet footsteps leaving his room, a door closing. He sighed and focused on his breathing, falling asleep within an instant.  
  
~*~  
  
When Geralt woke up the next day his headache was gone and his vision had cleared. The orange reddish light coming through the window told him it was still early and the witcher could easily recognise his bedroom in the Chameleon. Regis really had found him then, it had been real.  
  
He lay in bed, taking inventory of his state. His body still felt tight, swollen, and his bruises were tingling like little needle pricks. Geralt lightly felt along his ribs, his sensitive fingers easily locating the breaks through the layers of bandages. Breathing shallowly he would be able to keep the sharp pain at bay, but he would have to remember not to make any sudden moves. His tongue idly felt around his mouth, feeling the blisters on his cheeks. They were a bit better, his tongue, too, seemed to hurt less.  
  
He braced one arm around his ribs and tried to prop himself up in bed, but had to abort his effort when his entire body strongly objected the movement. He could just lay here for a while longer, but there was an uncomfortable pressure on his bladder that needed seeing to.  
  
Geralt frowned, his thoughts drifting off to a time nearly a decennium past…  
  
One morning while travelling with his hansa Geralt had woken with a pressing need to get up, but his right leg had hurt nearly as bad as it had done the first few days waking up in Brokilon. On top of that his knee had locked up and wouldn’t release. He must have made a noise back then, for all of a sudden Regis had appeared, offering assistance. Embarrassed and in pain Geralt had lashed out at his friend, but Regis had listened calmly until he was finished with his tirade, only to gently scold him in return.  
  
Geralt still remembered the words; they’d been the beginning towards his better understanding of his friend and they’d become engraved into his memory. It wasn’t actually _what_ he had said, but _how_ he had said it that had drawn his attention. “Geralt, while I respect your admirable aspiration for complete self sufficiency, I lament the poignant factuality that far too frequently you’ve found yourself in a situation which left you struggling in solitude and thus necessitated your solitary self reliance. Whilst I am in your vicinity, however, I would appreciate it if you would accept my humble assistance.”  
  
He’d initially glared at the vampire, but Regis had quietly knelt down next to him, one hand fiddling with his bag, the other hovering over Geralt’s leg, silently asking for permission. When Geralt noticed after a moment that Regis still wasn’t actually touching him the witcher had looked closer at his friend and he felt his frustration and anger, his embarrassment, slipping away when he’d noticed the little worry wrinkles at the corners of those black eyes. There’d been a flutter in his chest and he’d nodded, giving his permission for Regis to touch and help him.  
  
From that moment on he had started to notice the little things in his friend’s body language. The fluid complexity level of Regis’ garrulous speech. The combination of both became clear indicators to Geralt of Regis’ mood and comfort level.  
  
He’d learned that when the gentle vampire was comfortable and happy in his surroundings he would speak in understandable language with only a highbrow word thrown in here and there. When he was concerned Regis tended to speak in more simple terms, but when he was worried, frustrated, defensive or just plain uncomfortable in general, Regis’ speech became increasingly complicated the higher his distress.  
  
Once Geralt had started seeing the pattern he’d asked Regis about it and his friend had admitted to his perpetual struggles, his impersonation of an erudite human to throw humans off of his eccentricities and his physical oddities. It was better to be seen as an eccentric human, to be laughed at in ridicule or ignored because he was incomprehensible to them, than to be recognised for the monster he was. Erudite and garrulous language had become a diversion tactic for Regis’ brain, forcing him to focus on complex speech instead of his vivid sentiments and it allowed him to suppress his emotions… prevented him from losing control.  
  
Geralt had made himself a promise after that revelation: he would never wilfully be a nuisance to his friend again, worry him needlessly or make him feel uncomfortable. He would do everything in his power to prevent being the reason Regis reverted to his erudite persona ever again. It would have the additional benefit that Geralt would actually be able to understand his friend’s words without having to mull it over twice or thrice.  
  
This did however mean giving in to some of Regis’ mother-henning (later he’d call it mother-batting after _that_ particular revelation) and letting Regis get away sometimes with treating him like his pup. He’d allowed Regis closer and his friend had opened up to him, shown more of his true self in return when they were alone. Their bond of friendship had changed and grown infinitely stronger, and in a manner it had become extremely intimate. Not many people would ever see that side of either of them.  
  
His bladder roused him from his thoughts, letting him know he’d better get up now, or else. He really should call for Regis. “Regis? You awake? Could really use some help here…”  
  
It only took a few moments before a blue-grey mist swirled into his room, materialising into his friend’s human form. “Hello Geralt, how are you feeling?”  
  
Geralt’s mouth lifted in a wry half smile. “Like a piece of tenderised bloated meat with an incredibly full bladder. Help me up?”  
  
“Quite an imaginative, if slightly disconcerting imagery.” Regis helped him move the bedcovers to the side and carefully put his arm behind his back, lifting him up to a seated position. “Though admittedly I recognise the similitude.” The vampire gently grasped his legs and turned him so his feet could touch the ground, moving his grip to the witcher’s elbows and pulling Geralt to a stand.  
  
Geralt groaned, feeling dizzy for a moment.  
  
He felt Regis compensating his grip to keep him upright. “How is your head? Your vision?”  
  
“Just stood up too fast. Head and sight are back to normal.” Geralt tested his legs, stiffened up overnight because of the bruises, his entire body felt like one big stiff bruise, but he could walk. Tomorrow would be better.  
  
He slowly walked to the door, intent on finding a chamberpot in the other room.  
  
“Uhm, Geralt? While I have no objections to you walking about in naught but your flesh you may want to put the towel back on before venturing outside?” Regis held out the towel discarded the previous night.  
  
Geralt took it and quickly wrapped it around his waist, leaving the room with Regis hovering by his side. He took quick care of his business and soon both he and Regis were back in his room.  
  
The witcher walked around, searching, but his potions pouch was nowhere in sight. Geralt frowned, he wouldn’t object to some superior swallow right now. Knowing Regis though, if the vampire had any say in it he wouldn’t ever imbibe any of his potions again, but he was a witcher, a mutant. He was made to handle those potions and those potions would allow him to keep on functioning; helping him to gain an edge in a fight and speeding his recovery when he got injured. It was only when he lost track of exactly which and how many potions he’d taken that was the issue… “Regis? Any idea where my belongings are? What happened to Roach?”  
  
Regis walked over to his wardrobe, glancing inside it for a moment before picking out some comfortable and loose clothes for Geralt to wear. “Our beloved poet assured me she was well taken care of. He sent one of his friends to put Roach down for the night and to retrieve your equipment. Your belongings are in storage down below for now, but should you need anything either one of us can bring it up to you.”  
  
Geralt nodded, glad to hear Roach had been taken care of.  
  
Regis helped him get dressed, holding out the articles so he only needed to step into his underwear and loose leggings, no bending required, which had become more difficult now that his bruises were blooming in full. Lastly Regis helped him with putting on a soft tunic before stepping behind the witcher and tying his hair back into a raftman’s do. Mother bat with pup. Geralt snorted in amusement at the image that thought provoked, holding on to his ribs.  
  
Regis lifted a querying eyebrow at the sound. “You’re certainly in a good mood.”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “I’d share the thought, but no need to traumatise you.” He smiled kindly at his friend as a warm feeling spread through his chest.  
  
~*~  
  
When Regis and Geralt got downstairs they were joyfully greeted by Dandelion, Zoltan and Priscilla. After their initial scare when Geralt hadn’t shown up some ‘witcher time’ after the promised date and their second scare when they’d seen the state he’d been in when Regis had returned with him, the relief on their faces when they saw him was nearly palpable.  
  
It was good to see his friends again. The last time he’d seen Dandelion his friend had been busy consoling the duchess and the poet had just saved his neck, not without some substantial risk to his own. Geralt grimaced remembering that time, but he didn’t regret his decisions. Yes, Syanna had manipulated a vampire and ordered the assassination of her tormentors and her sister, while Dettlaff had been manipulated, betrayed and had lashed out the only way he knew how.  
  
Regis had explained to him just after their unexpected reunion that Dettlaff was more bestial than himself, more primal in his emotions. Geralt couldn’t blame a beast for doing what came natural to it, but when a beast attacked innocents he would normally slay it; that was his job after all. This time though he couldn’t do it, not after stumbling upon his friend’s heart-wrenching scribbles.  
  
Dettlaff was Regis’. Like Ciri was Geralt’s. For a moment Geralt had thought that he’d lost Ciri forever and he’d been ready to just… give up. So he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t kill Dettlaff. When Geralt himself was long dead Regis would still have his brother, someone he could be himself with and who obviously loved him. He wouldn’t be alone. For that outcome Geralt had been willing to sacrifice his own life. One mortal life in exchange for the happiness of his immortal friend. No, that hadn’t been entirely true now had it? The beast had lashed out and it had resulted in many deaths, but killing Dettlaff wouldn’t have given those people their lives back. Killing Dettlaff would, however, have killed Regis, if not physically then definitely from the inside. No, Geralt didn’t regret his decisions, but he would never _ever_ tell Regis the full story of why he let Dettlaff go.  
  
He’d been glad and relieved when Regis had instigated their correspondence, keeping him updated on the happenings in his life. From it he knew that Regis was doing all he could to help and rehabilitate Dettlaff. The end result would either be a brooding vampire amongst humans again, or a brooding vampire hiding away, only interacting with his pack, which included Regis.  
  
“Hello? Geralt? Come out of it old man.” Dandelion’s voice interrupted his remembrance. “Are you sure he’s ready to be up again Regis? He looks asleep on his feet from where I’m standing.”  
  
Geralt harrumphed. “Nah, just bedazzled by your gaudy apparel. Didn’t know when you became interested in trying to imitate an orange archespore, what happened with trying to imitate a purple bloedzuiger?”  
  
“Oh ha-ha, bully the poet.” Dandelion gripped his shoulder and dragged him over to the table. “Just so you know, this outfit was a gift from Elihal.” His friend hurried to the kitchen and came back with a cup of raspberry juice, handing it to the witcher before sitting down next to him and starting to tell him exactly why he had earned a gift from the elven tailor.  
  
~*~  
  
Geralt had been admonished to take it easy for a couple of days and so his day consisted of drinking, eating and ingesting a multitude of Regis’ concoctions. Additionally the witcher had plenty of time to catch up with the happenings in his friends’ lives, letting them talk for the most part and butting in here and there.  
  
Regis had gone into full mother-bat mode and a few times a day he would herd Geralt up the stairs for some rest. It wasn’t ideal, being two floors up, and it may have been wiser to stay upstairs instead of trekking up and down, but Geralt actually considered it good exercise for his stiff limbs and appreciated the company of his friends and the bustling of the tavern patrons downstairs.  
  
He was exhausted though whenever he reached his destination and would quickly fall asleep after he’d gone up. When Geralt woke again, which was usually around an hour later, a soft call for Regis brought his friend back to his side, ready to help him down again. That at least was much easier after his rest, but when he reached ground floor he would gladly settle himself down in the comfortable chair that had appeared in the private section of the Chameleon in between two lie-downs.  
  
~*~  
  
The day before the wedding passed much like the first, but Geralt saw less of Dandelion and Priscilla as his friends were bustling in and out of the Chameleon, going on little errands. Wedding jitters finally seemed to be kicking in.  
  
Geralt and Zoltan had played some dice poker, alternating turns with Regis, but with the games and Geralt’s routine the day passed by for him in a whirl.  
  
It was in the late afternoon and Geralt was sitting downstairs, watching as Zoltan was shooing out the last remaining patrons of the day. The Chameleon was closing early to give Dandelion and Priscilla some calm time before their big event. It was supposed to be a quiet evening with just the five of them, soon to be seven.  
  
Geralt was looking forward to the evening. He’d left Corvo Bianco weeks ago travelling on his trusty Roach. Yennefer hadn’t been able to join him, instead her presence had been requested in Nilfgaard by Ciri and his love had left for the palace by portal the same day he’d departed for the north.  
  
Ciri was in Nilfgaard learning how to become a capable ruler as the future empress and she’d been corresponding with Geralt and Yennefer by raven every now and then, though one remarkable time she’d come and visited them at the vineyard under the pretext of needing to learn all she must about Toussaint and its extravagant culture. In the last letter she sent she was telling them about receiving Dandelion’s wedding invite and she wrote that she would do her utmost to be there in time. Emhyr had given her a situation to handle as a test and Ciri had asked for Yennefer’s help in her letter; the test never specifying she couldn’t ask others for aid. Ciri expected to have the situation solved before the bard’s big day and would open up a portal to make it in time.  
  
Geralt shuddered, he would do absolutely anything in his power to avoid portals. He’d suffered through enough of them recently and was glad to still be in one piece. How the two main loves in his life had no such aversion to those tricky magical hazards he would never understand.  
  
He heard footsteps approaching his direction and looked up. Regis was coming towards him and he had that look on his face that predicted him being ushered upstairs for a nap in the very near future. As in, right now. “Feeling better, Regis, don’t need to go up yet.”  
  
Regis crouched down in front of him, bringing himself to Geralt’s eye level. “May I remind you that while you have an increased healing ability, this doesn’t mean that your body is miraculously capable of healing overnight? You have suffered days of abuse, dehydration and starvation, your body will certainly appreciate the chance of getting some much needed rest. It may not seem like it, but you sitting upright and observing others as you have done for the last few hours is quite a drain on your reserves.”  
  
Geralt lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sure with some of my superior swallow and a tawny owl I could manage just fine.”  
  
Regis mirrored his eyebrow lift. “I assure you, my concoctions are less harmful than your poisons and the particular mixture you’re receiving is just as beneficial in expediting your healing process.”  
  
“Be sure to give me the recipe then.” The witcher sighed, giving in and pushing himself up and out of his comfy chair.  
  
“I shall be certain to scribble it down hereafter. You know, I could carry you upstairs if that’s the obstacle you wish to avoid.” Regis offered, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, though Geralt knew the vampire was sincere in his offer.  
  
Geralt huffed. “Actually sounds tempting, but seriously Regis? You know I’m expecting Yen and Ciri to arrive any time now.”  
  
Regis stood before him, black eyes squeezed to slits, calculating. “Very well, I suppose if-” The vampire cocked his head. “My-my, what a fortuitous timing.”  
  
Geralt turned around, in time to see Ciri and Yennefer walking inside, followed by Zoltan who’d apparently met them outside already as he was carrying their suitcases, ever the gentledwarf. He caught himself having a sappy smile at seeing his loved ones.  
  
“Geralt!” Ciri walked up to him, her intent of bear-hugging him clearly visible. She stopped all of a sudden though, clearly looking him over. She frowned. “You’re hunching and your neck’s bruised. Where else are you hurt? What happened?”  
  
“Contract. Ran into a Leshen. Didn’t end too well for me.” Geralt looked at Regis. “Regis found me though.”  
  
Yennefer came closer and Geralt felt those violet eyes roving his figure. The sorceress calmly walked around Ciri and Zoltan until she was stood right in front of him. Two fingers gently traced his cheek and the sorceress’ eyes indicated she knew, that she’d accidently picked up on his memories. “Oh Geralt.” She turned to Regis. “Thank you, dear Regis, for finding him. Caring for him.”  
  
The vampire reached up towards his shoulder, only to realise that he wasn’t wearing his shoulder bag and couldn’t reach for the strap. He rolled on the balls of his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. “No thanks are necessary, Yennefer. Geralt is very dear to me as well.”  
  
Yennefer focused back on Geralt. “Did you at least get compensation for your efforts and your near death experience?”  
  
Ciri’s head jerked up and bright green eyes sought Geralt’s own cat-like eyes.  
  
The witcher averted his gaze, focusing on a spot on the floorboards. His jaw clenched.  
  
“He did.” Regis replied for him.  
  
Geralt looked up, confused. He hadn’t finished the contract and the people of Gors Velen hadn’t been the most friendly. How did he get any pay for a job not done? Wait, that dream he’d had two days ago. “You… haggled? For me?”  
  
The vampire nodded. “It was your just due. Honestly I fail to understand some of your human culture. A guard injured in the line of duty still gets their guerdon, don’t they? Why should it be different for you?”  
  
Geralt smiled wryly, but nonetheless his heart fluttered with a warm sensation. He couldn’t suppress a yawn and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He turned to Ciri. “So the Nilfgaard situation has been resolved right? How did that go?”  
  
Yennefer grabbed one of his hands and lightly squeezed it. “None of that now, my Ugly One and I managed just fine. Emhyr was impressed with how she handled the situation. Tomorrow you may hear it in more detail if you wish, but you’ve started swaying on your feet. I’m both curious and reluctant to discover the state of your body, but it’s obvious you need to rest.”  
  
“Yen, I’ve been staying up especially for your arrival. I’ve missed you both.” Geralt blinked, another yawn escaped his mouth. It was ridiculous, he’d not done anything too strenuous and he’d been napping a hole in the day. He shouldn’t be this tired after just some hours of sitting downstairs.  
  
Ciri came closer and grabbed Geralt’s other hand. “We shall still be here tomorrow. Yennefer’s right, you look like you’ll fall right over.”  
  
Geralt looked over at Regis, seeing the both smug yet concerned expression on the vampire’s face. He turned to Zoltan, seeing the dwarf had his arms crossed in front of his chest. The witcher sighed, realising the wisdom of his loved ones but wishing to hear their voices for a bit longer.  
  
“How about we’ll settle you in bed and stay for a while? If you manage to stay awake we’ll chat a bit more, but if you drift off we’ll pick this up tomorrow?” It seemed Yennefer was still receiving some of his surface thoughts.  
  
“Sounds good.” Geralt started up the stairs, Yennefer at his side, Ciri and Regis following behind.  
  
“I’ll bring those suitcases up later for you. When you get back I’ll have dinner ready!” Zoltan said, moving towards the kitchen and Geralt heard the dwarf mutter something about pickles.  
  
The four of them entered Geralt’s room and the witcher carefully lowered himself down onto his bed. Ciri sat cross-legged on the floor by the nightstand while Yennefer grabbed a stool and put it down at the foot-end of the bed. The sorceress reached out and lightly stroked his hand once before clasping her hands in front of her.  
  
Regis retrieved a small bottle from his pocket and pressed it into the witcher’s palm. Geralt drank the concoction in one go and handed the empty bottle back to his friend. The vampire pocketed it quickly before looping a careful arm around his back and helping him lay down.  
  
The little shards were still waiting to seize his lungs, but together with Regis’ aid he managed to keep the shards blunted down to dull daggers. When he was finally as comfortable as he was going to get Regis nodded at him. “I’ll take my leave and help Zoltan downstairs. Until later, dear friend.”  
  
Yennefer and Ciri started softly talking to him and Geralt was content to just listen. A safe and heavy feeling came over him, dragging him into slumber.  
  
~*~  
  
When Geralt woke up he discovered it was morning already. He blinked a couple of times, surprised at how long he’d slept. Geralt’s nose twitched, smelling lilac and gooseberries. He took in the little changes in his room, Yen’s case, her travel outfit folded up on the chair, his own attire for the day, that he’d so carefully selected together with Yen, now hanging from a vertical clothing rack.  
  
Geralt looked to the right and saw a slight indent next to him. She’d most certainly slept here, but where was she now? He noticed he was only wearing his underwear and suspected Yen had used some of her magic to make him sleep through all the jostling, likely she’d given him an extra nudge as well to make him sleep so long.  
  
His eyes were drawn to a fragrant letter on his nightstand and he managed to carefully sit up on his own. He reached for it, curious, and glanced it over, letting the letter fall to the floor afterwards.  
  
They’d left without him. Geralt was a bit discombobulated that his friend, his lover and his Ciri had just… left already. The letter informed him that they’d all gone to the wedding location near the Wheat Fields to get things ready for the ceremony and that they’d left him behind on purpose to ensure he would get some much-needed rest. Yennefer’s letter also informed him not to worry too much and that she’d requested Regis to make sure Geralt wouldn’t actually miss the ceremony.  
  
Geralt sat on the bed, his stomach feeling odd and it had nothing to do with him being nearly squashed to a pulp a few days ago.  
  
He slowly stood up and got himself ready, walking over to his attire for the day. Physically he was feeling better than the day before, more flexible and he managed to put on the soft black trousers by himself, admiring the delicate silver patterns nearly hidden from normal human sight but easily detected with his own keen eyes. Then he slowly put on his ornate robe, taking care not to lift his arms too high and work around his still healing ribs. The robe was a nice a burgundy colour, offset with a silver-green sash around his waist. Geralt was glad that the sleeves were long enough to hide the bruises darkening his arms and that the neckline hid his bandages from sight. His bruised neck was bare, but the smaller roots comprising his prison hadn’t done too much damage there, their main goal to immobilise, not crush like the thicker roots. Unless someone came really close to him they would hardly notice the yellow-green markings.  
  
He was just finished with his clothes when there was a soft knock on his door. “Come in, Regis.”  
  
The door opened, revealing a joyful vampire with a fang-revealing grin. “Ah, I am glad to see you awake, my friend. Well in time for the ceremony.”  
  
Geralt found himself looking back towards Yen’s letter and hugged an arm around his ribs.  
  
The grin left Regis’ face and his friend moved closer. “Geralt? What’s wrong?”  
  
Geralt grunted, feeling like an idiot. “They left already.”  
  
A pale hand came up and gently grasped the back of his neck, entreating him to lift his eyes and meet Regis’ own. Those searching black orbs seemed to find something in his face, for a sad smile appeared on his friend’s lips. “Come now, Geralt. Today’s not a day for glum thoughts. Be merry for Dandelion and Priscilla’s big day and know that they and your Yennefer and Ciri love you. You know they worry, dear friend. It was not a slight, them giving you a bit more time to rest and heal before partaking in a joyous but long day.”  
  
Geralt focused on a point behind Regis. He was being silly. Regis was right, he knew that, but that didn’t stop his gut from feeling queasy. “I know. Dunno, felt…” He bit his lip, unsure how to finish.  
  
Regis lowered the hand grasping his neck to land on his shoulder. “Come on, Geralt. You’ll feel better after a hearty breakfast. Then after that we shall prepare and join our friends.”  
  
The witcher nodded, silently following Regis.  
  
*  
  
After breakfast Geralt and Regis made sure to lock up the Chameleon for the day and slowly made their way to the stables. Roach was enjoying some oats, but the moment they neared Geralt saw her ears twist back. Her head lifted and she neighed, coming up to the pair.  
  
Geralt reached out his hand. “Hey Roach, what do you say we crash Dandelion’s wedding?”  
  
The mare touched his hand with her snout, whuffling.  
  
Geralt moved over to the back of the stall to fetch Roach’ saddle, readying for their departure. He picked up the saddle from its hook on the wall, grunting at the weight.  
  
“My friend, allow me to help.” Regis walked up to him, hand held out to take over the saddle.  
  
Geralt walked closer to Roach and lifted the saddle to put on her back. “Nah, Regis, I can manage.” The saddle dropped to the ground from tingling fingers when he lifted his arms too high, the sharp stabbing in his ribs and a pulling sensation in his belly forcing him to hunch over. A grunt escaped his lips and stars covered his vision. The witcher waited, breathing through the worst of the pain. When Geralt managed to stand back upright his gaze was met by doleful black eyes.  
  
Roach stomped her hoofs and Geralt instinctively glanced her way, expecting what he would find. The mare’s upper lip was curled, her ears flicked back and forth, and she’d pressed her tail down against her body. She was nervous, frightened. Geralt drew back to meet Regis’ eyes again.  
  
Regis’ mouth was pressed close, but the vampire unclenched his lips after a moment and his hand reached up towards the strap of his shoulder bag, fiddling with the leather. “Unfortunately, my friend, our psychological and corporeal entities are sometimes inclined to proclaim conflicting statements in matters related to the totality of our wholesome wellbeing.”  
  
Geralt smiled wryly and lightly squeezed the hand Regis had wrapped around the shoulder strap. This was exactly what he tried so desperately to avoid. “Apologies, Regis. Seems all I am doing today is worry you and make a fool of myself.”  
  
Regis’ jaw clenched, but he released his hold on his shoulder strap and lightly squeezed Geralt’s hand in return. The vampire slowly reached for Roach’ neck, letting the mare see him coming, before petting her gently until she’d calmed down. “Good girl, see? Nothing to fear.” He then picked up the saddle and started getting Roach ready for the trip to the Wheat Fields.  
  
Geralt checked Regis’ work, making sure the buckles on Roach’ harness weren’t too tight, nor too loose. That the bit was seated well in the interdental space. His friend had done a good job.  
  
Regis’ face had softened back into his usual gentle expression when he returned to the witcher’s side. “Up you go, Geralt.” He put a hand on his back, offering his other in assistance with reaching the stirrup and helping Geralt gain momentum to get up on the saddle.  
  
Once he was up Geralt scooted a bit backwards, making room for Regis.  
  
His friend however tapped his leg softly. “Slide forward.”  
  
Geralt lifted an eyebrow, but did as requested, untangling his feet from the stirrups afterwards.  
  
Regis climbed up behind him and put his arms around him, holding out his hands in front of him. “If you would kindly hand me the reins?”  
  
Geralt handed them over to him. “Careful Regis, you’ll become quite an experienced equestrian if you keep this up.”  
  
Regis snorted. “Hardly, so far there have only been three mounts that would carry me.”  
  
“Three?” Geralt interrupted. “Draakul, Roach and…” He thought for a moment, trying to remember details from Regis’ letters.  
  
“Horse.” Regis supplied.  
  
Geralt turned his head to look back at his friend, one eyebrow lifted.  
  
“Do not give me that look, young man. I was not the one to name her.” Regis clicked his tongue, commanding Roach to start moving.  
  
Geralt felt the mare slowly walking, once they were outside of Novigrad he would tell Regis how to get Roach walking in a pace, it was the one rhythm that wouldn’t exacerbate his ribs. “She’s still in Nazair with you guys? How does that actually work?”  
  
“Indeed she is, and it actually works out perfectly. Horse has no sense of self preservation and our pack, after some initial interventions from Dettlaff, actually grew to like her boldness and now seem to consider her a packmate. As we speak now I admit that it was an egregious oversight on my part that I haven’t written to you about the katakan-equine cuddle pile.”  
  
Geralt’s eyebrows shot upwards. “You, my friend, are pulling my leg.”  
  
Regis held out a hand, two fingers lifted up to the sky. “True as the stars, Geralt.” And Regis started telling him the story of the cuddle pile while they travelled to the Wheat Fields.  
  
~*~  
  
Geralt and Regis arrived in much higher spirits well before the wedding ceremony had started or any other guests had arrived. The weather was sunny and warm. Dandelion and Priscilla had chosen a beautiful day for their joyous event.  
  
Geralt stole a small spice and honey cake from the table in retaliation for his friends and family leaving without him, seeing the disapproving stares on some of their faces at his lack of etiquette. The witcher didn’t care and proudly ate his treasure in front of them with a big grin plastered over his face, remembering a bit too late that spiciness and a mouth full of blisters wasn’t a good combination. He stubbornly finished his stolen prize though, keeping the grin on his face through sheer force of will.  
  
Yennefer rolled her eyes and moved towards him, wiping the crumbles off his robe. She looked amazing in her chosen dress, black with faint white patterns, similar to the ones on his trousers.  
  
Geralt could see Ciri sneaking behind the sorceress and steal one of the cakes as well, holding it proudly above her head behind Yen’s back before eating it in one go, looking like a hamster with puffed up cheeks, very unbefitting of an empress-in-becoming and he loved her even more for it. His Ciri looked stunning in her dark green dress, a subtle pattern of small golden flowers winding around her neckline. There was a small pang in Geralt’s chest at the sight, she’d grown up so fast.  
  
Dandelion grabbed at his hair, his gaudy hat finally nowhere in sight and Geralt heard him muttering something that sounded and awful lot like “Not all the cakes!” The poet was wearing blue trousers and a purple tunic with silver paisley patterns. This particular colour combination should have clashed and it would have looked horrible on anyone else, but somehow his friend pulled it off.  
  
Geralt smiled and lifted a hand to Yennefer’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with two fingers. He stepped a bit closer to his lover and nuzzled her hair, taking in the comforting smell. “I got your note.”  
  
Yennefer’s arms wrapped carefully around him and the sorceress turned her face up and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I would apologise for leaving you, but I am gladdened by the fact you could get some more rest. You still look like you would benefit from a week’s worth of alternating hibernation and culinary indulgence. I hope you are not too upset with us? Dandelion and Priscilla really needed our help. Those two lovebirds have been in a frantic and hyper mood all day.”  
  
Geralt hummed, returning the hug and kissing the soft spot beneath Yen’s ear. “You’re forgiven. Love you too.”  
  
Ciri came up next to them, fidgeting in place. Geralt released his hold on Yennefer and stepped back, holding his arm out. His child-surprise moved within his reach and carefully hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek. Geralt felt a comfortable warmth tingling in his chest. He looked at Regis and Zoltan, Dandelion and Priscilla, Yen and Ciri… a content smile found its way to his lips.  
  
Dandelion came up to Geralt next, Priscilla at his side. “Geralt! Welcome, I’m so happy to see you!” The poet gave him a mock stink eye, pretending to brush a left-over cake crumble from his shoulder.  
  
“Come on, Dandelion, don’t pout.” Priscilla gripped her fiancé’s shoulder. “Welcome Geralt, I hope you feel well rested?” The beautiful bride was wearing an orange and yellow dress with the same paisley patterns as Dandelion, but stitched in gold. Geralt suspected they’d asked Elihal to make their wedding outfits.  
  
Geralt nodded at the trobairitz. “All ready for the day.”  
  
Dandelion lightly clapped him on the arm, taking care not to actually jostle him. “Well my friend, if you will excuse my lovely lady and myself, we still have to put on our pretty faces, not saying that my lovely Priscilla doesn’t have a pretty face right now but- aargh! You get what I mean. I’ll see you in a bit, don’t go anywhere!” The poet bustled himself and Priscilla away, moving towards a luxurious tent that had been set up some distance away earlier that day, getting ready. Geralt had seen the poet sneak a bottle of cherry liquor in with him and he smirked, wondering at the state his friend would be in later when the ceremony started.  
  
Within an hour the wedding guests appeared and soon thereafter Dandelion and Priscilla appeared, a bit rosy cheeked and giggling. Looked like they’d both been sipping from that liquor bottle.  
  
Geralt’s mind was drawn back to Hubert Rejk and he quickly shook the thought away. Priscilla was fine, von Gratz had really performed a miracle for her. She was fine, had been for a while now…   
  
The ceremony started and everyone took their places. When it was time for the exchanging of the vows the bride and groom had recited vows of their own making, both of them being poetically inclined made it quite an experience. By the end of it Priscilla was smiling and Dandelion had turned into a happily crying mess.  
  
Geralt sat in between Yennefer and Ciri, but he’d noticed that Zoltan had been surreptitiously drying his own eyes with the back of one hand. Whoever invented the proverb ‘cold like a dwarf’s heart’ had been a racist idiot. Regis sat on Zoltan’s other side, a small smile on his face, but Geralt could see a little bit of his fangs peeking out. Good.  
  
Geralt reached for Yennefer’s hand, intending to stroke it, but she grabbed his hand and dragged it onto her lap, caressing his fingers. She carefully rested her head on top of his shoulder and Geralt heard her sigh softly.   
  
With the pronouncement declaring Dandelion and Priscilla husband and wife the newlyweds kissed passionately to the sound of clapping and cheers.  
  
~*~  
  
Whereas the past two days Regis had herded Geralt to bed several times for some rest, today, after admittedly a long sleep-in, Geralt had only taken a quick nap back over in the bride pair’s luxurious tent. Dandelion had told him a dozen times in various roundabout ways about the comfortable day-bed that was in there and Geralt decided to take the poet up on his subtle suggestion after he’d eaten his fill from the banquet table later in the day. Before he went up there though he’d made Regis promise to wake him up if he wasn’t back in an hour, not wanting to miss too much of the festivities.  
  
When the sun had set the party was still in full swing. Musicians were playing joyful music on a crafted stage and party-goers were merrily dancing to the tunes. Dandelion and Priscilla certainly were having fun jumping and frolicking around and joining the games. Yennefer and Ciri had joined the merrymaking as well, needing some encouragement from Geralt to leave him and go up there to have some fun.  
  
Geralt sat around a table with Zoltan and Regis, keeping an eye on the increasingly inebriated wedding goers. He really was in the mood for some mandrake cordial, or some Temerian rye, but instead he nursed a drink of blueberry juice. He blinked his eyes slowly. He felt like a bowstring that had been drawn too far back, but he ignored the feeling as much as he could in favour of partaking in some of the more quiet, and non-alcoholic, wedding games.  
  
Geralt and Zoltan were playing gwent, while Regis sat next to them with a mug of mandrake cordial and a deck of the new gwent faction. The vampire really seemed to be admiring the Skellige imagery, taking in the details.  
  
“Geralt?” Zoltan prodded him, lifting a flask of Mahakaman mead to his mouth. “You just scorched your own cards from the board.”  
  
The witcher forced his eyes open, not even realising they’d fallen shut. “Huh?” He looked down at the board and noticed he’d indeed erased nearly all his points while he had a perfectly good special spy card he could’ve played instead. “Oh.”  
  
“Eloquent as ever, my friend.” Regis stated, putting down the Skellige cards.  
  
“I think it’s time for our dear laddie to go to roost.” The dwarf suggested to the vampire, laying his cards down as well.  
  
“Don’t object to it.” Geralt blinked a couple of times, he could feel a tiny pickaxe setting up shop behind his eye again. He realised he must have been playing really slow, but Zoltan nor Regis had said anything about it.  
  
“Very well. I’ll bring our dear witcher to his roost.” Regis stood up and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I must admit I wouldn’t mind some quiet either, no slight to Dandelion and his party, but my ears have started ringing from all the noise. Frankly I’m marvelling at how you are holding up, it has after all been a very long day for you.”  
  
Geralt looked at the merrymakers, making out Dandelion and Yen. “Wanna say goodbye.”  
  
Zoltan stood up. “I’ll go fetch them, don’t break your pretty little head over it.” The dwarf moved to the dance floor and got the attention of the bride pair and Geralt’s ladies, bringing them back with him.  
  
Geralt slowly got up, feeling Regis’ hand surreptitiously supporting his elbow.  
  
Dandelion came up to him, arms wide. “Dear friend, I cannot express in full how much it means to me that you were here today.” The poet carefully hugged Geralt, softly patting his back. “I’ll see you in the morning Geralt. Sleep well.”  
  
Geralt patted Dandelion’s back once, pulling back and clasping the bard’s arm for a moment before letting go.  
  
Priscilla grasped both of his hands in hers, her voice low and gentle. “Dearest Geralt, it was indeed a joy seeing you here with us. Rest well and until tomorrow.”  
  
Geralt squeezed her hands gently before letting go.  
  
Yennefer and Ciri came up next.  
  
“We can return with you?” Ciri asked, gnawing her lip.  
  
Geralt huffed. “And do what? Stay at the Chameleon, watch me sleep? Stay here, have fun. You’re not leaving until tomorrow evening right? Time to say goodbye still.”  
  
Ciri squeezed his hand and stepped away, allowing Yennefer to step closer.  
  
The sorceress cradled his head with her hands and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ll join you later. I’ve no more business in Nilfgaard, so we may travel home together in, I think, perhaps a week? When you’re a bit more recovered.”  
  
“No portals…” Geralt groaned. “Got Roach.”  
  
“No portals.” Yennefer promised, brushing away some stray hairs from his face. “I’ll procure a horse for our journey.”  
  
Geralt nodded and waved a final farewell, walking towards the pasture where they’d left Roach.  
  
~*~  
  
The trip back to the Chameleon went smoothly, with Geralt dozing in the saddle in front of Regis.  
  
Once they’d arrived at the Novigrad stables, Regis manoeuvred Geralt from Roach’ back, waking him up from his doze, and sat him down on a stool while he untacked the mare and made sure she had enough food and drink.  
  
Then his friend lifted him back on his feet and the pair slowly walked back towards the tavern. Geralt somehow managed to make his way upstairs and back to his room. He was nearly asleep on his feet, but he roused enough to help Regis with getting himself undressed and ready for bed.  
  
Regis made him drink a small bottle of a by now familiar concoction before helping him to lay down.  
  
Geralt was glad when he finally found himself lying down. He wearily closed his eyes, the little pickaxe had gathered some more of its friends and he hoped Regis’ potion would kick in soon. He could sense the bedcovers being adjusted and he heard his friend walk away from the bed. A sizzling. He heard the door open and roused himself just a bit. “Regis?”  
  
The vampire turned towards him. “Yes, Geralt?”  
  
“Thanks.” Geralt slurred sleepily.  
  
“You’re welcome Geralt. Pleasant dreams.” Regis left with a gentle smile, quietly closing the door behind him.  
  
A thought flitted through Geralt’s mind of asking Regis whether he would like some company on the way back to Nazair, after all, they could travel together for quite a bit before they had to part ways. The vampire would be slower in his travels, but perhaps he wouldn’t mind staying around a bit longer? He hadn’t seen him for so long, he missed his friend…  
  
He’d ask him tomorrow, Geralt decided, drifting off into a welcome sleep.  
  
**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! ,')

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how long the actual travel is from e.g. Beauclair to Novigrad, but in W3 Regis seemed to be doing the trip pretty fast, even taking Dandelion back with him, who could only move at horse speed. Times in this fic are just an estimate here (but if anyone has any ideas how long it would take on horse I’d love to hear it!).


End file.
